


A Knight's Caring

by Vreliskriri



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Camp Cloudtop (Final Fantasy XIV), Camp Dragonhead (Final Fantasy XIV), F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vreliskriri/pseuds/Vreliskriri
Summary: In which the Lightweight Warrior needs some support, Haurchefant raises his voice and the heartaches of one Seotone Jedat are opened anew.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light, Laniaitte de Haillenarte/Seotone Jedat
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. The Eyes Of the Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lightweight Warrior needs some support, Haurchefant raises his voice and the heartaches of one Seotone Jedat are opened anew.

_“A mage is nothing without her voice.”  
  
_

Rine jolts out of the nightmare. She begins to calm down once she remembers where she is. Camp Dragonhead. Her room, her bed, and over there, the drawer she pushed in front of the door before she went to bed. The Crystal Braves can’t walk through walls, and they wouldn’t get close enough to try.  
  


It’s still a bit dark outside, but Rine isn’t going back to sleep. No, she might as well make herself useful. Ask around. Someone is bound to need help with something. Getting up and out of bed happens in a blur. Haurchefant’s shirt is the last thing to go over the many layers of clothes loaned by knights closer to Rine’s size. The shirt is made of good, sturdy wool and has a warm, familiar scent to it- as far as she remembers. Right now she can’t quite smell it.  
  


Rine only properly realises how stuffy her nose feels when she steps outside. Rine takes the route underneath the aetheryte. She’s halfway through when she sees the camp inquisitor leaning to the stone wall. She’s not exactly blocking the path, but the look in her eyes makes Rine stop in her tracks, if just for a passing moment. The moment passes. The woman smiles right after.  
  


“You’re up early, outsider.”  
  


Rine nods politely, walking past her. Walking faster than before, unsure of where to and more concerned with the from than the to.  
  


“Wait!”  
  
  
Running footsteps. Then, a tight grip on Rine’s arm. She yanks herself free and staggers back a few steps before looking back. Fright turns into frustration.  
  


“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, child. You went so pale at my greeting that I cannot in good conscience let you just walk away-” The inquisitor stops mid-sentence and furrows her brow.  
  


“I assumed it to be animosity, but up close, you seem sick rather than sinister. Then again, guilt over one’s sins can manifest in a manner akin to illness. So, which one is it?”  
  


Rine wants to answer with the best of Lominsan etiquette, but all that comes out is a pained, near-inaudible grumble that stings her throat worse than the freezing air. Her feet feel heavy, as if stuck to the ground.  
  


“So you want to be difficult. Very well. How about-” The woman doesn’t get farther than that.  
  


“Oi! Isn’t it a bit early to be apprehending passersby, Inquisitor?” A Duskwight clad in the Haillenarte green strides through the southern gate. Rine cannot say if she’s met her before. The knight doesn’t show any signs of recognizing her, either.  
  


“Ah, Ser Seotone!” The inquisitor makes a small curtsy. “Just the woman I was hoping to see. I caught this stray sheep wandering about near the aetheryte. She won’t talk to me yet, so I thought a change of scenery might work. It’ll be quick. What do you say?”  
  


“What do I say?” Ser Seotone repeats. The warmth in her voice hollows out as she continues: “You want me to escort you two to Witchdrop. Just like that. As if I didn’t make myself clear last time.”  
  


She steps between Rine and the inquisitor.  
  


“Please, Seo. A routine interrogation. Fury have mercy, it’s not as if I proposed we throw her into the chasm-”  
  


The knight cuts her off. “There’s no _we_ , Brigie! There’s never been a we. Not without people getting kicked down the bloody chasm, certainly not when one of them rosaries was found under my bed. That bridge you have burned to meet your purge quota.”  
  


“I never doubted your innocence!”  
  


“I know, Brigie. If not for Lord Francel’s adventurer friend, you would have seen me buried with my honor. You would have wept like a saint. But you didn’t _fight_ for me.”  
  


Ser Seotone turns around in time to catch Rine as her knees give in. “You’re burning up,” she exclaims, trying her best to keep Rine standing.  
  


“Brigie, explain. What in the hells?”  
  


“I don’t know, I- This wasn’t me. I haven’t done a thing, I swear!”  
  


“Then why don’t you start by buggering off? Go get Lord Haurchefant. I’ll be taking this Dravanian spy of yours to the chirurgeons.”  
  


Once the inquisitor has run off, Ser Seotone turns back to Rine with a sigh. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that, adventurer. Lost your voice, have you?”  
  


Rine nods.  
  


“Very well. Do you know the way to the infirmary?”  
  


Rine points in the right direction.  
  


“Not completely new to Dragonhead, I take it. Think you can walk all the way yourself? ...Alright, no need for the hero face. Just lean on me and let me know right away if you get too tired. Sound good? Great!”  
  
  
Wrapped in several blankets and kept upright with pillows, Rine has answered the chirurgeons’ questions in writing. They say it looks like a bad cold. A week’s rest should have her back on her feet, provided she’s well taken care of, they say. Based on previous experiences, Rine suspects it’ll be closer to two weeks, but she’s out of strength and paper and needs to focus on the warm mug in her hands. The tea smells bluntly medicinal. She’s told to wait while it’s still steaming hot, then left alone.  
  
  
Downstairs, Ser Seotone gets some tea as well. She nearly chokes on it when one of the apprentices decides to make introductions.  
  
  
“The Warrior of Light? Haah, that’s- wait, you’re serious.”

  
“I am, Ser. I understand you’ve returned to the Skyfire Locks recently, but most people here first got to know her around the time of… Sorry.” The chatter around the room dies down. The boy looks away.  
  


Seotone sighs. “The various accusations against House Haillenarte. My hands were a bit tied at the time.”  
  
  
The joke is bad, but her aim is true. Nothing like nervous laughter to clear the air.  
  
  
“Right, Ser. Ever since, Mistress Dreamcatcher has been a frequent and welcome visitor to lord Haurchefant, both on behalf of the Scions and at her own leisure.”  
  
  
“The Scions of the Seventh Dawn? As in the cult with the red robes and sacrifices to the lesser moon?” Seotone croaks.  
  
  
In the rotting dark under Whitebrim Front, madness could take any shape and still pass for a friend. _If I confess now, they’ll let me see if the sky is still there._ To shake off that thought and others like it, anyone would have to get off the ground for a bit.  
  
  
Seotone still catches herself staring at the stars as if seeing them for the first time, but the time away in Camp Cloudtop has helped her heal in other ways. Its one downside? The difficulty of keeping up with news from beyond the Holy See. But one does not simply forget the name of the secret order that turned up as the lesser moon began to drift down, no.   
  
  
“...Those would be the Lambs of Dalamud, Ser.”  
  
  
  


Lord Haurchefant gives what looks like a puzzled smile. “A… terrible misunderstanding?” he repeats. 

  
“Begging your pardon, Lord Haurchefant, I couldn’t possibly remember the face of each outsider who passes through.” Brigie shakes her head in feigned remorse. After a moment, she looks back up. Haurchefant is still there, still smiling.

  
“What about the faces and names of my guests? Certainly the Tribunal wouldn’t take kindly to leaving those out of your reports. Unless-” he tilts his head to the side, still holding that smile- “unless I misunderstand again.”   
  


His eyes are windows to the Hell of Ice.   
  


“No, you’re right. The mistake is mine. I should have recognized her.”  
  


“You did, Inquisitor Brigie. Instead of lying to me some more, there’s something I’d like you to explain. The story you tried to feed me. How exactly was it meant to absolve you of my ire? Did you think I wouldn’t mind at all, had you wanted to terrify a nameless adventurer instead?!” Lord Haurchefant slams his hands onto the desk.  
  


“Terrify? That is not true,” Brigie snarls.  
  


He doesn’t respond. Brigie wonders whether she raised her voice or if it just bounced off his silence. Even the crackle of the hearth has quieted down. No one has tended to it in a while. No one here dares to move, and the cold is setting in.   
  


“I admit to acting on my prejudice in doubting your guest, my lord. However, the suggestion to take her to Witchdrop came not out of malice. The place is shunned by heretics and Dravanians. Close enough to be safe, yet far enough to be out of sight.”  
  


“Where no one would hear you.”  
  


 _“Step aside now, or taste my steel. Which one is it, Ser Briggan?”_ _  
  
_

_The frypan has an odd taste in the frigid morning air. The shock on Seo’s face is worth it for the second it takes for the older girl to realise she’s stuck.  
_ _  
Brigie is still attached to the frypan when Seo threatens the bartender with it. Laughing into his sleeve, he promises not to tattle to any parents and goes to get some water._

  
Near-scalding. Any thoughts of sticking to her earlier plan wash away with the memory.   
  


“No! Yes! I mean- To stay here, where people might start to talk… Were my doubt to fester and spread over the certainty I was trying to attain, I… I couldn’t possibly forgive myself.” The best lies live next door to verity.   
  


“I believe you. Which is good, because I wouldn’t sleep well tonight if I didn’t, or if you had been more believable earlier,” Lord Haurchefant says, getting up from his chair. Brigie trips on the line between lines.   
  


“Pardon?”  
  


“You’ll receive none from me. Nor do I have the authority to remove you, nor can you go before you’ve met Mistress Tataru.”  
  


“Who is she?” Brigie asks.  
  


“The authority,” says a voice at the door she didn’t hear opening.  
  


“I’ll leave you two to it. Good day, Inquisitor.”

Haurchefant walks two steps into the snow. A hesitant third, and he breaks into a run. There are plenty of footprints all over the yard, but the tunnel under the aetheryte is almost clear, as though people had been avoiding it.   
  


Rine’s trail is easy to recognize. The clothes she wore to the banquet, including the only shoes she brought with her from Ul’dah, are ceremonial attire dug up from the ruins near the Crystal Tower. Made for walking on plush carpets and smooth roads, the markings those boots leave are most distinct. Here they’re accompanied closely by the steel-toed tread of a knight and headed towards the infirmary.   
  


Haurchefant nearly trips on the threshold, but balances himself well before he would have crashed into the tea table ahead. One of the older chirurgeons puts down his cup.  
  


“My lord, your friend is not dying, and you know that. Which I know because you would probably have gone through the wall if you thought she was.” 

  
“I know what you’re going to say next, Master Braitognieux. No dashing madly into the infirmary… except in cases of great distress.” Haurchefant taps the sign to his right.  
  


“That just means emergencies!”  
  


“Did he not emerge through the door in distress and disarray?”  
  


“For your excellent defense, Ser, I’m going to let it slide. This once.”  
  


Haurchefant now notices the Rose Knight sitting on the other side of the table. “Ser Seotone Jedat?”

  
She stands up with a pained smile.  
  


“The Inquisitor has told you all about me, then. Listen, you should know I-”   
  


“I’m sorry to interrupt, Ser, but she did not. Only I seldom forget an honest face.”  
Haurchefant pauses to think. “Well, that, and Lady Laniaitte speaks highly of you in her letters to Lord Francel. Which he, in turn, has relayed to me during a recent conversation.”   
  


“Ah.”  
  


“And now, dear Ser, I must join them in singing your praises.”   
  
  
  


Seotone struggles to believe she heard that right. Brigie wouldn’t have taken the fall on her own. There has to be more to this.  
  
  
“No need to,” she begins, slowly. “I saw a stranger in danger and did what any knight should. What any worthwhile person should have done, really.”   
  
“It was you who did that. You’ve done well, Ser Seotone. And, I’m sure you already know it, but you have every right to be proud. To protect and serve is our calling, and we ought to do it with our heads held high.”  
  
  
Others nod their heads in agreement. “Besides, she didn’t even know who-”  
  
  
“You’re welcome,” Seotone cuts in, lifting her chin up to look Lord Haurchefant in the eye.  
  


“Very good,” he beams. “Next… Where’s Rine?”  
  


“Upstairs,” Braitognieux grumbles, “she should be asleep by now. I will show the way, if both of you valiant sers would please follow me... _quietly._ ” 

  
“Of course!” Lord Haurchefant exclaims.  
“ _Shhhhhhhh.”_

Rine couldn’t bring herself to take more than a few sips before she had to put the mug down on the nightstand. The taste of it… Had to be something in there meant to help her sleep. It’s a sensible thing to do, and it’d keep her from coughing so much. If they had but told Rine beforehand. With having to find out on her own came a cold, unreasonable dread that she’s too tired to chase off.  
  


Most simple potions taste the same simply because they use a lot of the same ingredients. A potion’s main ingredient, the thing that causes the desired effect, is just a fraction of a fraction of the bottle’s contents. The taste comes from preservatives, colorants and landtrap leaves. When the dose is dissolved in a hot mug of tea, the end result will taste of potion. In this case, it’s sure to be a sleeping draught. Possibly something to help with the pain. Nothing about it is dangerous.  
  
  
She should lighten up, get a hold of herself.  
  


Rine reaches for the mug. She runs out of strength halfway through the effort, her arm falling limp over the edge of the bed. Well. She tried.   
  


Approaching footsteps. Hushed voices. Two, maybe three people stop outside the door. Three. Two in chainmail, possibly armed, and one… that would be a healer. Rine rolls closer to the wall.   
  


“Can I take her back to her room? Is she well enough to be moved around?”   
  
  
One unicorn knight.   
  


Haurchefant? Here so soon? Rine isn’t sure whether she wants to hug him, cry or both.   
  


“Yes, and we don’t want the rest of the patients to catch that cold. Only… who will be looking after her there? Her fellow Scions? I’m afraid we cannot set a healer aside just for her.”

Oh, no. Alphinaud couldn’t look after his own reflection. Tataru, maybe, but she has enough work to do already. Working hard to contact what’s left of her contacts, working through the grief of losing the family she has known much, much longer than Rine.   
  


“Master Alphinaud and Mistress Tataru will contribute, I’m sure. However, I cannot well let my guests assume full responsibility.”

  
“So you’d do it instead?” the chirurgeon scoffs.   
  


Rine buries her face in the blankets. Haurchefant might want to help, but he has a duty to fulfill. They’re going to keep her here. Safe and sound, with her thoughts for company. 

  
“I was thinking of a compromise. You cannot spare anyone full-time, but what about daily check-ins? Perhaps measuring the doses ahead of time, with written instructions on how to administer them? The rest won’t be difficult to work into my routine.”  
  


“It won’t?”  
  


“I will lend a hand when Lord Haurchefant is otherwise occupied."

  
Is that the knight from earlier? 

  
“Ser Seotone? I had no idea you studied conjury.” 

  
“With your permission, I have a modest amount of experience patching up people, though I have yet to set foot in Gridania.” 

  
“My apologies. If Lord Francel agrees…”

  
“Splendid! That settles it. Thank you kindly, Ser Seotone. Now, let us continue the conversation with Rine.”

  
“That might not be practical. We have made sure that she’ll sleep soundly til well past noon.”

  
“ _Noon?_ ” Haurchefant yelps, loud and clear even through the door. Rine lifts her head and looks around in concern. Several patients shift in their beds, but none appear to be waking up. Good. No good. Not at all good. Has everyone been given the same kind of tea? Is this something all Ishardian infirmaries do? 

  
“That’s a lot of medicine for someone that small,” Ser Seotone points out.

  
“She needs her rest, sers. After you-” 

  
The door handle turns. Candlelight floods in from the hallway. Haurchefant. Flying to her side, gathering her hands into his. Warm. Firm. Safe. 

  
“You’re awake! Are you all right?”  
  


Rine nods, yes, she’s fine, though the weight of her head is too much to lift back up. Haurchefant catches her as she falls over.   
  


“It’s quite alright, my lightweight warrior. You don’t have to say anything. No need to stand up. I can just make you tall like this, and we’ll get you back to your own bed.”  
  


Easily he scoops her up, blankets and all. Rine is fast asleep in his arms before they're even downstairs.


	2. The Lover's Skillet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place roughly two moons prior to the events of the first chapter, during a time in which Ser Seotone is recovering from the toll taken on her by the Inquisition, while also re-establishing herself as a Rose Knight. House Haillenarte's presence in the relatively secure Sea of Clouds allows her to do both simultaneously. Seo's relation to the rest of Ishgard is somewhat expanded upon by way of introducing some of her relatives. 
> 
> Along with that, Lady Laniaitte gets to know Seotone Jedat on a more personal level, as the Halonic historian Haroldois would put it... were he allowed to write the spa date chapter. Alas, all the work was left to my gay little heart.

The night of the full moon shines bright on the Sea of Clouds. The Rosehouse has quieted down for the night, but the lights are still on in one tent. Lady Laniaitte de Haillenarte is writing a letter.

_Dear Brother,_

_Many thanks for sending me another of your compositions. I look forward to hearing you perform it in person. Have you and your preferred audience been keeping in good health? Please give him my best regards._

_Happenings here in the sky remain few. Two new recruits have arrived, one of which you know, and Windsday was somewhat eventful. To sum it up, His Lordship Emmanellain de Fortemps tripped over a Gastornis nest- imagine a nastier, more vibrant dodo- and needed a rescuer posthaste. To Emm’s disappointment, a visiting Stephanivien (!!) chased off the birds with his fiery arm before I could get to them. Emm’s grievous injuries amount to a black eye. Please emphasize that to Lord Haurchefant afore he is reached by one of the wilder rumours and gets distraught._

_Now that I think about it, Stephanivien sticking his nose out of the Manufactory really is some news. He’s going to come to the Skyfire Locks and show off the prototype sometime next week, and he did say he’d inform you beforehand, but you know how he is._

_The units have been performing better than usual, and I think your Ser Seotone is to thank for that. The Fury rarely blesses me with such a competent individual. Not even half a moon has passed since she joined our ranks, and already I struggle to imagine the Rosehouse without her._

_I’m not the only one, of course. Speaking of moons and the powers that be, at least a quarter of Ser Seotone’s bunkmates seem to have fallen into Saint Menphina’s skillet. All very sweet people and, despite their best efforts, terrible at hiding their affections. I continue to keep an eye on the situation in case one of them does step out of line, but the fair lady herself asked me not to worry just yet. ‘The lovelorn parties will come to their senses’, or something along those lines._

_Already I can tell it’ll be difficult to say goodbye, but I’m all the more grateful to you for letting me borrow her at all, and to her for volunteering the idea. I find it truly admirable how she --  
  
_ Oh. She’s out of writing space… and letter paper. This was the last sheet in the box. Laniaitte turns over the paper and tries to gather her thoughts.  
  


“My lady? A moment?”  
  
Laniaitte clears away the stationery and steps out, rubbing her eyes. Who is this? How can people be this much harder to recognize when they’re not wearing chainmail? Having to ask for people's names will never stop being mortifying… although it isn’t exactly fair to expect Laniaitte to recognize every one person by their voice alone, and it’s unlikely that anyone does so. Still.  
  
Ser Seotone Jedat, bless her. She always bows like a gentleman. It's not a strange sight after you’ve seen it a couple times, just strangely charming. But what is this?

She looks terribly undergeared for a night patrol, with just a short-sleeved white gown and a light cloak over her shoulders. No helmet, no weapon, _and are those sandals?_ No, she’s not on patrol. 

“Ser Seotone! A night stroll, is it? I thought you would want to rest up before tomorrow’s mission.”  
  
“I tried, my lady, but I felt restless. Cool water and a breath of fresh air usually helps.”  
  
“Really? I must try that sometime, Ser. Sleep doesn’t always come easy for me, either.”  
  
“Might you give it a try now? I mean- If it suits you to walk with me. It’s a very lovely night. Warm, too, with so little wind.”  
  
“Ser, now that you ask, I cannot find any reason to pass. It is important to get to know those under my command, and I appreciate you taking initiative in this,” Laniaitte says and adds: “I presume we will be turning back soon. I can, of course, fend off a lot on my own, but I would still have expected you to bring your own weapon if the plan is to go much further than the next plateau.”  
  
Seotone shakes her head.  
  
“That won't be needed. I am simply headed for Voor Sian Siran, to give my hair a good wash. If you are to come with me, you need to leave your chainmail and sollerets here, as well as your sword and shield. And do bring a towel.” 

Laniaitte is somewhat stunned by this turn of the conversation. The commanding tone and the absence of a formal address should needs be corrected. She should _say something._

“What good is that against the wildlife?"  
  
No, not like that. That makes it sound like she's still considering the idea.  
  
“It doesn’t clank,” Seotone says, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You can take your longbow if you so wish, and I still have my dagger and a flask of growth formula in case things were to go awry, but most creatures in the nearest isles are more docile by night- as long as one moves quietly.”

The base ingredient of a healer's cane, a dagger to cut a suitable branch _and_ a bow? That does sound more agreeable.  
  
“You have really thought this through.”  
  
“Rather I’ve been through this several times, but yes. Will you be coming?”  
  
“I- Yes. Hold on, Ser.”  
  
  
Laniaitte backs into her tent and climbs out of her chainmail. The gambison underneath comes off easy, but the buckles of her sollerets give her some grief.

“Sandals, toiletry bag, tunic… a robe…” Almost good to go. Laniaitte doesn’t have to check the mirror to know she’s blushing, but that can’t be helped now. Besides, the night chill has been known to do worse.

 _Fury above, it’s just a crush! Be a lady.  
  
_  
Outside, Laniaitte finds that Seotone is already at the edge of the clearing. She isn’t bothered by the wait.  
  
“Got everything you need? Good. Now, let’s keep to the side of the path. Walk on grass rather than sand, and watch your step. And, if you need to talk, come closer and whisper.”  
  


Laniaitte doesn’t object. The sights speak for themselves, and she can take them in at her own pace. Seotone walks faster, but makes little stops to let her catch up. At one of these stops, she beckons her close and points out a small green pile under some leaves.  
  
It’s snoring.  
  
“A sleeping gaelicat?”  
  
“So that’s what they’re called! Thank you. Now, another thing- could you tell me about the plant it’s using as shelter?”  
  
As it turns out, Seotone has a lot to ask. She points out constellations and animal tracks. She ponders over the different uses of plants. With every question, Laniaitte learns something new about the Rose Knight. Her parents are botanists with their own flower shop in Foundation, and her roots are in the Twelveswood, from her father’s side.   
  


Dhalmels are much nicer to look at this far out from kicking range, and the shadows they cast on the fields below add to their grace. Seotone mentions a kindred beast that is said to live in Gyr Abania, but adds that figuring out how they would have gotten up here is someone else’s headache. 

“You miss a lot of this on patrol,” Laniaitte says.

“You do, and the things you see still get affected by how you look at them. You look for threats. You move on. Speaking of which, we’re almost there.”  
  


The waters of Voor Sian Siran keep still as mirrors while the two knights slowly make their way around them. Caution is needed, especially when passing the spring crystals that adorn the mirrors’ frames - the moisture around them makes it easy to slip up. In order to avoid drawing the attention of the giant leeches that inhabit the larger lakes, they keep out of the water until they reach their destination, one of the northernmost shallows in the spring.   
  
Seotone puts her hand into the water.  
“Wonderful, we won't freeze to death. And you can stop whispering now. The water is so clear, nothing can possibly lurk close enough to get the jump on us.”  
  
Laniaitte turns around and closes her eyes.  
  
“My lady? Is something off?”  
  
“No, I’m just waiting for you to get into the water.”  
  
“I’m in, and I’ve still got a shirt on.”  
  
“Ah. I see."

Seotone makes space for her in the deep end, where the water reaches up to her waist. After the initial shock, it feels warmer than the air. How long has it been since Laniaitte last went swimming? Too long. 

“I wonder if you think me strange. All this trouble, just for an extra bath."  
  
“Ser, it takes some guts, but I know you have them, so no, not at all. And this isn’t just an extra bath- it's a meticulously planned adventure. You’ve taken the time to find out how to do this safely, all while studying the wildlife and flora of the area, in your free hours? It's astounding. That you were kind enough to share the experience with me is the only strangeness I can find here."

“The pleasure is mine!”  
  
“It’s mutual _,_ I assure you. Cloudtop is so incredibly beautiful at night. Which I did know all this time, and yet… I got used to it. Began to care less. See, that’s what I like about you, Ser Seotone. You appear fascinated by everything you see. You _care._ ”  
  
Seotone tilts her head.  
  
“I suppose I am? It’s a sweet thing to say, my lady. But please, don't fault yourself for missing out on things. You work hard. You don’t have that much time to sit around and think about the stars. You know they aren’t going anywhere. And, despite not caring so much, you could still tell their names right.”  
  
“Just barely, Ser, despite a classical education. I wasn’t a stellar student.”  
  
“Pun intended?”  
  
“Oh, goodness me. I would _never,”_ Laniaitte grins. “Now, may I ask what brought you to know the stars so well?”  
  
“Me? It wasn’t being stationed near the Observatorium, in case you were wondering. Though, come to think of it, I did sometimes have to work their star readings into strategies.”  
  
“I recall a mention of that in your introductory letter.”  
  
“Really? Lord Francel has been thorough, then. But let me sate your curiosity! I was introduced to astrology some years prior to attaining knighthood. My cousins were still little, but they were learning quite a variety of subjects from their private tutor, and my Aunt Yvette invited me to accompany their lessons.”  
  
  
In her mind, Laniaitte goes through the list of Houses serving under the rose banner. Wait, it couldn’t have been...  
“The mother of Elsiant de Launevard?”  
  
Seotone lightens up at the name.  
“That’s the one! I take it you’ve had the honor of meeting my louder cousin?”  
  
“Some years ago. It was quite a memorable occasion.”  
  
“I- Oh, _no_ ,” Seotone laughs nervously. “What’d he do?”  
  
“Nothing objectionable. He confessed to writing several love poems about me at Lord Emmanellain’s behest. They were great, but obviously not Emm’s style, and I… well, I cannot stand his boasting, so I sought out the true artiste. He wasn’t very pleased to find he hadn’t been credited.”  
  
“So that’s why those two had their little duel! The boy wouldn’t tell me, and neither would Aunt Astrie, even though she’d been the one to help him train for it.”  
  
“It’s a small world, especially when it comes to the Pillars... Wait, how many aunts do you have?”  
  
“Just the two, my father’s sisters. Both had a hand in my upbringing, but Astrie especially so, having no children of her own. I looked up to her, and she looked after me.”  
  
Laniaitte nods. “No shame in being an old maid.”  
  
“Hah, Astrie? No _,_ ” Seotone says with a face that provokes further questions.  
  
"How so?"  
  
“Forgive me, describing her so just… Look, my aunt is a knight as well. The first one in the family. Someone had to be, and she was the one who _wanted_ it, but doing so meant throwing away what folk saw as maidenly behaviour back then. To bear the steel, she had to _be_ the steel.”  
  
That hits close to home, actually.  
  
“Someone always has to be the knight. First Chlode, then me- but the end of the day, he was buried a lord, and I get to be a lady, whether I like it or not.”  
  
“Well, do you like it?”  
  
Laniaitte blinks.  
  
“This doesn’t answer the question, but being raised as a noblewoman has its uses. I’m able to keep my wardrobe in good condition, which is practical out here, and I write very lovely letters to people I can’t bear talking to.”  
  
“Oh, I see. What about the people you like?”  
  
“I accept their invitations,” Laniaitte says and quickly douses her face with water.  
“But let's get back to Ser Astrie! She sounds like such an interesting person. Was she one of ours?”  
  
“She isn't a Rose, if that's what you mean. She got started under House Launevard’s old sun banner and had to retire right around the time when Launevards and the other Houses sworn to House Haillenarte were gathered under one sigil. That was five or six years before the calamity, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Correct. How does she fare nowadays?”  
  
“Aside from the lost leg? Rather well. The old thistle has a house in Foundation, near Saint Valeroyant’s Forum, where she lives with two sisters-in-arms and more cats than I care to count.”

“I'd love to meet her someday.”  
  
“I can ask, my lady. Might Watersday be suitable?”  
  
Laniaitte's heart skips a beat. She didn't expect 'Someday' to be that soon. She was just being polite, wasn't she? Then why is she so excited about spending more time with Seotone?  
  
“Next week? That’s, hold on... Five days from now. I could always have a day off?" She never has days off.  
  
Seotone smiles, tucking a ringlet behind her ear. “Aunt Astrie will have time to reply if I have the letter delivered with this morning’s mail. So, is that a yes?”

"It is.” Right, she still needs to finish Francel’s letter.  
  
“Great! Just, can I ask one more thing?”  
  
“Always!”  
  
“Then... please, look at me.”  
  
Seotone’s voice is a whisper, shivers down Laniaitte’s spine, a chill that makes her wonder if Halone has seen fit to punish her for her weakness. A common mistake. No one ever expects the strike of the divine frypan, Ishgardians least of all. To them, She who wields it is an afterthought.  
  
“Twelve have mercy… I didn’t know I was going to say this tonight, but here we are. I will need to get this one straight. You said it yourself- that you accept invitations from people you like. At this rate I might be forced to think you enjoy my company, and we can’t have that, can we?”  
  
“...Actually, I think we can, S- _Seotone._ ”  
  
“Laniaitte,” Seotone says. On her lips, the name sounds new. Loved.  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“You wouldn’t possibly happen to be the type to blush, would you?”  
  
"Mhm. My ears are red, aren't they?"  
  
"A little bit." Ah. They must be burning.  
  
Laniaitte thinks to lean to the water for support, but that's an oxymoron, so her head winds up resting on Seotone’s shoulder instead. It feels nice, just staying like this. The late hour might be catching up to her, or she might just enjoy the closeness, but one thing is clear: this crush isn't passing anytime soon.


End file.
